


Sphere of Influence

by pononie (catladyjaebeom)



Series: Dark Adaptation [3]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Comedy, M/M, Sirens, jeonghan makes a small appearance, seungkwan is a siren, this fic is sponsored by red velvet peekaboo, vernon delivers pizza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:27:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25285372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catladyjaebeom/pseuds/pononie
Summary: Sphere of Influence[noun, astronomy]:The region around a celestial body where the primary gravitational influence on an orbiting object is that body.Hansol has a late Saturday night delivery, and the woman on the phone offered to pay extra if he brought the pizza up to her apartment. What could go wrong?
Relationships: Boo Seungkwan/Chwe Hansol | Vernon
Series: Dark Adaptation [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1831861
Comments: 14
Kudos: 81





	Sphere of Influence

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how I wrote this so fast. Don't ask. Boo Seungkwan has the voice of a siren and we are all but mere mortals.

It’s the last delivery of the day. 

Saturdays usually run a little late. It’s the weekend and people want to stay up past midnight, getting drunk or getting high or neither, it doesn’t matter. Hansol is used to it; he’s been doing pizza delivery for the past year to help with rent, Jisoo’s spinning class instructor income – while good – not enough to support the both of them. 

It’s only temporary, until he can get an internship in his own area or something. Work for a huge corporation and get rich and stuff. That’s the plan. 

That’s not saying Hansol thinks the job is shitty, because that’s far from the truth. He likes driving around at night, he likes the smell when it’s just out the oven, likes warming up his hands under the warm cardboard box. He likes going up to college dorms and getting _‘i love you, man’_ from starving strangers in a study crazy, or getting offered snacks when he delivers for a party and the girls think he’s cute.

(The shitty part exists, don’t get him wrong, but Hansol is a strong advocate for silver linings.)

For some unknown reason, the call they got just as the shift was about to end came from a neighbourhood all the way across town, a spot they don’t usually cover. It was a little weird, but the woman on the phone was very convincing and she was willing to pay extra for the troubles. According to the girl who takes orders, the woman on the phone said she had eaten their pizza before and was really craving it. Actually, she also offered Hansol a handsome tip if he brought the order up to her apartment. Two pepperoni with extra cheese for apartment 11B. 

The company car is a little worn down but it gets him where he needs to go, the Darth Vader from the GPS guiding him along. Hansol taps his fingers on the steering wheel, slowing down when the voice tells him _his journey to the Dark Side is nearly complete_ and the apartment building comes into view. 

It’s large, and right off the bat, Hansol can tell it’s way too luxurious to be ordering from their restaurant. Well kept trees lead the path on the sidewalk, potted plants at least half his height and eccentric sculptures decorate the sides of the large glass and gold entrance. Whoever this lady is who offered to pay extra, she definitely can afford it. 

Hansol parks on the area designated for visitors just as the GPS announces his arrival. The payment would be made in cash and no change was required by the client, but Hansol still grabs the wallet from the glove compartment – just in case. One last check up if everything is okay with the pizzas and he’s out of the car. 

There’s a guy by the entrance, a large man in a suit and earpiece. He watches as Hansol walks closer, eyes impassive. Hansol has never delivered anywhere with security before, he’s not used to this and honestly, he’s not sure what he’s supposed to say. Just that he has a delivery for 11B and he was told to go upstairs? Should he know the name of the client? Did she call ahead? Does Hansol look suspicious? He sure hopes not, making his face look as innocent and non-threatening as possible. 

He’s practicing a speech in his head when he gets in front of the door, but he doesn’t get a chance to open his mouth. The doorman gives him one last stare before he moves to open the heavy looking door, making way for Hansol to go through. Hansol gives him a small nod as a thank you and steps in, suddenly engulfed by the golden glow and warmth of the lobby. 

It’s a little overwhelming, but Hansol is nothing if not a pro at keeping his cool. Well, not true, but at least enough so that he goes to the reception table for information. 

What strikes him the most isn’t the size of the room or how high the ceiling is, fancy crystal chandeliers falling in cascates. It’s not the white marble floor and columns on each side. It’s not the fact that there are people, multiple, hanging out in the couches set on the further part of the room next to the elevators, even though it's past two in the morning. 

It’s an eerie feeling of being trapped. A sudden cold up his spine. A lump at the bottom of his throat. 

Hansol shakes his head to force it out. He should really stop taking the shit Jisoo gives him before work.

After a quick check with the receptionist (as well as some funny looks on the way there) Hansol gets permission to take the second elevator to the left. Apparently the client, her name is Irene, had called in advance and cleared him with the security. What’s odd, he guesses, is how this place looks far more like a hotel than a residential building, but that’s probably because Hansol’s never been to a place this fancy. 

“Hey there, handsome,” a voice calls him before he can reach the end of the hall, stopping him in his tracks.

Hansol turns around and finds one of the many people he noticed earlier giving him a very suggestive look. It’s a guy, a pretty guy, probably not much older than Hansol, dark hair over his eyes and trouble written all over him. He’s draped over the velvet couch like a cat, looking up at Hansol with a tilt of his head.

“Where are you taking that pizza?” He asks with a lazy smile, teeth on display. 

“Uh,” Hansol clears his throat, not fully sure of what is happening. He can swear those teeth look a little too sharp to be normal. “Apartment 11B. Is that you?”

A wave of understanding downs on the pretty stranger’s face, and his smile drops a little. Hansol raises an eyebrow. 

It disappears as quick as it came, the man stretching on the couch and a brand new mischievous smile appearing on his lips. 

“Ah, that’s truly a shame.” He says, turning so he can rest his chin on his hand. His sharp teeth spark under the lobby lights again. “It was nice meeting you!”

Hansol furrows his brows, “Thanks?” he tries. The stranger’s smile only grows larger. “You too, I guess.”

He turns back around, but not before he catches a small glimpse of the stranger sending him a small wave-goodbye.

Well, that was fucking weird. Hansol walks until he’s in front of the second elevator to the left and uses his elbow to push the button. The lobby is still full of life and laughter, pretty stranger’s included. Maybe the guy was drunk, not completely uncommon for a Saturday night.

Whatever. Who is he to judge, anyway?

A _ding_ sound announces the elevator and Hansol walks in, left hand leaving the stacked pizzas only for long enough to press for the eleventh floor. The doors slide shut and with them the sounds of chattering from the strange lobby.

It’s a slow climb, and Hansol has half a mind to check if he looks the least bit presentable. Not that he doesn’t, usually, but it _is_ late and he’s been carrying greasy boxes around all night. Also, this is a rich client he wants a good tip from, it can’t hurt to flirt a little. He’s an expert. The mirror inside the elevator goes from floor to ceiling, golden ornaments decorating the outlines. Hansol leans in to check his smile, see if there’s nothing stuck there from his snack break earlier. His hair is perfectly hidden under the white cap, his uniform free of any obvious stains. He’s good to go. 

The visor above the changes from four to five and Hansol leans his back against the side wall, tapping his feet to the soothing music coming from the speakers. 

He wonders if Jisoo is home yet. His roommate had mentioned something about hitting the bar with his other gym instructor friends, the boxer guy and one of the personal trainers, asked if Hansol wanted to come with. Jisoo is a good friend and he’s tempted, but he is yet to finish a reading for his Thermodynamics class and that’s gonna take a huge chunk of the day tomorrow. Maybe if he wakes up around noon. Maybe-,

His vision gets blurry. He blinks a couple of times, but the blurriness doesn’t go away. Under his breath, he’s humming the tune. It sounds familiar, for some reason. 

Maybe he’s too tired for this. Hansol wants to rub at his eyes but he can’t, not while he’s holding the pizzas. He does the next best thing, leans his face into his shoulder and rubs a little. The song keeps getting louder.

They pass the sixth floor and something, _something_ , Hansol was thinking of something else. Jisoo? Sleep? Where has he heard this song again? He rubs his head on his shoulder again, this time with his ear. He needs to listen better.

Hansol has to grip the edges of the boxes not to drop them. 

It’s not elevator music. 

The realisation of it hits him like a wave of hot air. It’s not coming from the speakers, he _knows_ that now. He knows because the song is all around, all over, wrapping around his head, wrapping around his chest. Not hot air, hot fog. He can’t see past the reflection of his eyes in the mirror. He feels cold in his spine, he feels, he feels, he needs-.

He needs to listen more. He needs to. It’s calling to him, from outside. Out the elevator, get out, out. Come find me, it sings. _Come find me_.

Hansol bumps against the closed doors, taps as many buttons as he can. He can’t see anything past a small small point in front of him, everything else out of focus, he sees the lit up buttons but he doesn’t see the numbers. Keeps pressing, holding the pizza with an iron grip, using his index finger so hard it should hurt.

It doesn’t. 

The doors slide open before he has time to prepare, stumbling out and a couple of steps forward. He can still hear it, a little faint, but it’s present. There are doors around him, the hallway large extending for a few meters. It’s not here, he’s not here.

He? _He._

Hansol knows that now, he can see it. The melody dancing around him, voice smooth like velvet, sweet notes and enthralling hums, echoing down the hall and brushing against his skin. It’s nothing like he’s ever heard before. It’s calming, it’s welcoming, it’s different and, it’s almost taunting, the way it calls to him.

It’s like a game of hot and cold. He feels cold, he knows it’s not here, and he sees the path of warm fog as clearly as he sees his own eyes on the reflection on the silver doors of the elevator. 

Before he can even form a coherent thought, his feet are moving. He finds the fire escape door and pushes against it until it opens, nails digging into the cardboard. The ice-cold lights turn on and he blinks to adjust, catching the number nine painted on the floor, in a large font. He listens to the call, the voice that seems to go up and down the stairs like flowing water. He needs to focus, focus on it.

Hansol stutters forward into the fire escape, his weight against the outer wall of the staircase, looking for the least bit of balance as he runs down the stairs, skipping steps and running into the sides when the path makes a turn. He runs as fast as he can and as fast as the lights turn on, the voice getting warmer, louder, warmer, warmer. 

It’s not even words. It’s just dragged out vowels and breaths and it is the most hauntingly beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

His feet reach the painted number on the floor again, _seven_ , and the melody stops. Hansol feels his heart beating loud against his ribcage, threatening to jump out. His throat feels dry, it scratches when he breathes, the sharp intakes not enough for his lungs. He doesn’t know what to do.

The voice picks up just as he feels panic rise in his stomach, and it drowns down the whirlwind of emotions in his mind. The pause lasts no more than a minute, but it feels as long as one hundred days. Hansol’s teeth clink into each other, and he barges out of the fire escape.

It’s so loud, so loud, he feels it inside his head. Hansol feels nauseous, almost, swaying from one side of the hallway to the other. He can’t stand straight, he can barely think, he can barely _see_ , the images around him are blurry, the colors are mixing, he feels trapped in the worst and best high he’s ever had. The floor moves with the notes in the melody, calling for him from behind one of the doors. 

Hansol throws himself against it, doesn’t see the number, doesn’t care. The echo in his mind is blinding, the sound he can’t see, and he bumps his closed fists against the wood, kicks with his knee, his entire body draped on the surface. 

It opens, and he almost falls forward. 

It’s a person on the other side. They don’t have a face, not as far as Hansol can see. All he sees is a shape, dark blue hair.

“Oh, pizza?” The person says. Hansol hears them clearly, their soft spoken tone, over the music calling his name. They fit into each other, but they’re not the same. The faceless face turns back into the apartment. “We didn’t order anything, did we?”

Hansol doesn’t care. He feels his insides burn. He pushes past the shape and into the apartment, stumbling in what he can only assume is a living room. The voice is here, he’s here, _he’s here._ His eyes dart around, his heart stuck to his throat. Another faceless figure moves, from one of the corners, raising from the couch. This one has silver hair.

“Huh, that’s a human.”

He doesn’t listen. He moves further in, bumps into furniture and doesn’t feel it. He looks at the walls, he knows he’s behind the walls, he taps against them to keep himself from falling, the floor moving like a boat on the waves. 

It’s one door. It’s one door. He comes to it and he feels tired. He feels spent. The melody soothes the rough edges of his thoughts, now that they’re so close. His knees feel weak now, the spike of energy to get him here wearing off and stripping him down to an empty shell. 

“Well, sure’s been a while since we got a human this _bad._ ” One of the voices says, from somewhere to his right. Hansol doesn’t have the strength to look. 

The other voice laughs, and Hansol feels a tap to his arm. “Here, loverboy, let me get this.” The boxes in his hand – he'd forgotten, gripping them against his chest – get gently pulled from his hold. He feels even more empty. His eyes flutter close, his forehead against the warm wood. “Mmmm, pepperoni. You won’t mind if we eat it, will you?”

Hansol won’t. He can’t say anything. He feels his mind trapped in an ocean of warm, white fog. He can’t hear anything past his melody. He doesn’t know how he can even hear the faceless people talk. He doesn’t know why it doesn’t bother him.

“We’ll take that as a yes,” the other voice replies. “Why don’t you lie down? Kwanie is just taking a bath, he’ll be done soon.”

A bright warmth blooms in his chest, and Hansol gives in. Uses the remainder of his strength to lean his back against the door and lets gravity slide him down until he hits the floor. His bones feel mushy, he thinks he might even melt. The distance between him and _him_ almost hurts, now that it’s so close. 

The voices move further away, and Hansol is alone with the singing. The melody is growing slower, less intense with each lingering of the notes. From here it feels a lot more real, a lot more raspy and breathy, silk falling down the curve of his cheekbones. 

In his mind, against the dark of his closed eyelids, he sees the ocean growing calmer. He sees angry waves splashing on the corners of his skull, slower each time they break. Slower each time the song pulsates with feeling.

Slower, slower, slower, slower.

And then, it’s over. 

Hansol takes what feels like the very first breath since he stumbled out of that elevator. He feels dizzy, intoxicated almost, his muscles tingling as if asleep. His head feels heavy and he still can’t fully hear what’s going on besides the ghosts of the voice dancing inside him. He feels hollow. He feels a yearning, too, but he can’t really tell what for. 

There’s some muffled sounds from the other side of the door. Hansol forces his eyes open, blinks them until he shapes stop morphing together. His limbs feel detached from the rest of his body but he gets his arms on the floor, gets some leverage against the door and pushes back a couple of inches, to get a better view. That’s when it opens. 

The hot air spreads out, humid against his skin. The light from inside is blocked when Hansol looks up. A shape, too, hair as red as fire.

“Um, what the fuck?”

Hansol swallows hard, words getting choked on the way up.

It’s a man, no, not just a man. It’s _him_ , it’s the singing voice. Hansol knows it before the man even opens his mouth. He looks perfectly in focus right at the middle of Hansol’s clouded vision. He is wearing a bathrobe, the white fluffy kind that comes to your calves. His hair is falling in little wet patches over his eyes, looking down at Hansol with an unimpressed expression. The smooth curve of his cheeks is flushed from the hot bath, his lips tinged pink.

It’s the most beautiful creature he has ever laid eyes on.

“Please,” Hansol forces out, and his voice sounds strange to his own ears. “Please, marry me.”

The man raises an eyebrow. 

“No, thank you.” He says, with his beautiful voice. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. “Do I know you?”

He means to say no, not from this life at least. He feels like an impatient child. “I love you!” 

Hansol shakes his head rapidly, trying to form more words but not one seems to come out. He can’t tear his eyes away from the man’s face. He’s the love of Hansol’s life.

“Look, Kwanie-hyung!” The higher pitched voice exclaims. They sound excited, as if this is a fun secret. “It’s a _huuuuman_!”

The love of Hansol’s life spares the voice a quick glance. “Yeah, I can see that,” he replies. “What is it doing here?”

“What else?” The other voice, the sweet, soft one, joins in. “Heard you singing, barged in here like it was running from the devil.”

The love of Hansol’s life frowns. It irks the sides of his body. He can’t have that. Hansol bounces a little, trying to bring attention to himself.

“I-, Please, don’t frown!” He almost whines, he _needs_ the man to know he’s serious. He means it. “I love you!”

The man lets out a dramatic sigh. “Yes, you said that already.” He pinches the bridge of his perfect nose with his perfect fingers. “Hyukie, throw him out.”

Hansol feels panic build down in his stomach, “No, no, please, wait” He begs, fingers shaking. “I’ll be good, I’ll be good, please don’t make me leave!” 

The voices further away laugh, but Hansol doesn’t care about them. His pleas sound weak from how fast his heart is beating, how fast he’s taking breaths.

The love of his life groans. “All right, fine. Can I get changed first? Do you love me enough for that?”

His voice is barely a whisper. “Will you come back?”

Another wave of laughter from behind him. The man looks annoyed, but he says “I will. I promise.”

Hansol wants to say that he loves him more than life itself, which he means, but he shakes his head again. The man rolls his eyes and steps out into the hallway, Hansol crawling backwards and out of his way. A flowery scent follows him, a tinge of something spicy. Hansol glues his back against the wall until the Love of his life walks past, further down the hall. 

“Wait!”

The man turns around, not amused. He’s so gorgeous Hansol wants to cry. 

“Your name,” he pushes out, trying to contain his breathing. “What’s your name?”

It takes a couple of seconds, but the man replies, in the same melodic voice haunting Hansol’s heart. “Seungkwan. Boo Seungkwan.”

Everything inside him settles at once. He nods softly, so that Seungkwan can leave to change. He slumps back into the wall and lets out a long breath, feeling as light as air. Seungkwan is gone and Hansol’s heart finally begins to slow down. He feels a little uncomfortable that he left, but Seungkwan promised to come back and Hansol trusts him. 

Some moments pass and he sees a hand waving in front of his eyes. He looks up slowly, finds the person with the sweet voice, the one with dark blue hair. 

“Come on,” he says, impossibly soft. Hansol feels him reaching out for his shoulders, urging him to get up. “Let’s go sit down on the couch, right?” 

It’s a little hard, but with their joined effort Hansol is led back into the living room. The floor has long stopped swaying and the shapes look slightly clearer. He sees two couches, one larger than the other, and a fluffy cream carpet. He sees an open balcony, night sky sparkling outside. The face of the faceless person looks clearer too, he can make out the blurs of eyes, nose, lips. 

“There you go, loverboy.” The person gives him one last push, Hansol falling into the couch. It’s comfortable. “Are you thirsty?”

He is, but he doesn’t think he has enough strength to say so. He looks up at the person and he can see their smile. He nods, and the person tells him to wait for a moment. They leave, and the other person moves in Hansol’s peripheral. The silver haired one, high-pitched honey voice. They are sitting on the floor, draped over what looks like a coffee table. They raise their hand in a mock wave.

The first person comes back. “Here, take this.” They place a glass on Hansol’s hand. It’s cold to his touch, the clear liquid inside sparkling under the ceiling light. “Drink up.”

Hansol does. 

At first he thinks it’s water, but it’s not. It tastes salty, if only a little, and leaves a weak burn when it goes down his throat. It smells different, too, like seaweed and oranges. He doesn’t particularly like the taste, but he drinks the whole thing anyway. 

It does something. It’s like the liquid runs down and goes beyond his stomach, it spreads around his organs. He can feel it, ice cold, reaching the end of his fingertips and the length of his spine. He feels goosebumps all over, feels his eyes becoming clearer, his mind less clouded. The fog seems to leave slowly, giving way to his surroundings. He hears his own thoughts, for the first time in what feels like hours.

The first faceless face sends him a warm, teasing smile. They have a face now. Sparkling eyes and soft lips. 

“Feeling better?” He asks. 

Hansol blinks, and finishes swallowing the water that was sitting on his tongue. He lets his eyes fall down as the rest of his surroundings come into focus. The faded green wallpaper, the rustic wooden furniture. The couches, the fluffy cream carpet and the round coffee table, a boy sitting crossed legged on the other side of it, glowing tan skin and grey hair. He’s leaning on the table, chin on his hands, looking up at Hansol with a big grin. There’s open pizza boxes in front of him on the table. His pizza boxes. From his job. The ones he was supposed to deliver to a rich lady, oh. Oh. Oh, no. 

Hansol feels the liquid dancing inside his stomach.

“I think,” he hiccups. “I think I’m gonna puke.”

The silver haired stranger shifts expressions in a flash. “Ah, no, no, no! Not on my fluffy carpet, you won’t!” He points a menacing finger, eyes narrowed. “You puke on my carpet, human boy, I’ll rip your throat apart with my teeth!”

Hansol forces it all down, lips sealed shut. The boy watches him, wary.

The other guy, dark blue hair, rolls his eyes. “That’s Donghyuk, don’t mind him.” He explains, taking the empty glass from Hansol’s hands. He sends him another blinding smile. “I’m Jungwoo, by the way. This is our apartment.”

He lets out a small puff of air through his nose, nails digging to his thighs. Jungwoo taps him in the hair and walks away again. Donghyuk seems to relax, now that Hansol doesn’t look like he will spit out his dinner, and goes back to the pizza. The fog is fully dissipated from his brain now, but he still feels a little uneasy.

That’s when Seungkwan comes back, dressed properly this time, baby pink oversized hoodie and grey sweatpants. He sends a warning look towards Donghyuk before stopping next to the couch. He inspects Hansol for a while, eyes piercing and searching. Hansol wants to cry. His head isn’t mush anymore, the floor isn’t weaving and the song has stopped completely, but Seungkwan is still absolutely beautiful.

Jungwoo walks past him, holding a wine bottle and some glasses. “So,” he gives Hansol a nod, placing what he brought down on the coffee table. “Wanna tell us your name?”

“Chwe, uh, Hansol.” He turns to look at Seungkwan, tell _him_ most of all. “My name is Hansol.”

Seungkwan doesn’t answer. Donghyuk does, though, threatening tone gone from his bright, bubbly voice. “Thanks for the pizza, Hansol!” 

He blinks. Right, the pizza. The wrong apartment. “You’re welcome.” He says, a little unsure. To Seungkwan, he turns with a sheepish look on his face. “Uh, I’m sorry for uh. Barging into your house. And um, for you know,” his cheeks heat up and he looks somewhere else. “Proposing and stuff.”

Seungkwan snorts out loud, but at least it sounds more amused than annoyed. 

Jungwoo giggles. “He’s so cute Kwanie, let’s keep him!”

Donghyuk joins in with the snickering and reaches for the bottle so he can pour some on the empty glasses Jungwoo brought. He offers it to Hansol, but he doesn’t think that’s a good idea. Seungkwan sits down next to him on the larger couch, gives the pizza a few temptive looks before getting a slice.

“Where were you taking these, anyway?”

Hansol watches as he takes a bite, tries not to be a creep. “Apartment 11B, to some rich woman.”

Seungkwan snaps to stare at him, eyes wide. Hansol recoils, looking between the three of them. Donghyuk has his eyebrows up to his hairline and Jungwoo has his wine glass frozen halfway to his lips. 

Donghyuk lets out a gasp. “Holy shit!”

Hansol frowns, turning back to Seungkwan. “Why, is that bad? Are they gonna sue me, or something? Should I go upstairs and explain?”

Explain _what_ , he’s not really sure. Coming up to someone’s apartment at two in the morning and saying “hey, I meant to bring your pizza but something weird happened and I took it to a different apartment and proposed to a stranger” isn’t exactly professional etiquette.

Jungwoo shakes his head, “Ah, darling, believe me, that’s the last thing you wanna do.”

He furrows his brows more. “Why?”

“That’s where the coven lives.” It’s Seungkwan who says that. He takes a sip of his wine, sends Hansol a small shrug. “You show up there with that pretty face, you’ll end up with your eyes in a pickle jar.”

Hansol feels his mouth fall open a few inches, but he forces it shut. The hell is that supposed to mean?

“He's right,” Donghyuk waves an olive around before bringing it to his lips. “Between a house full of witches and a house full of sirens, you're lucky you got us.”

For a stretched moment, he thinks the three weird men will burst into laughter, but none of them do. Jungwoo hums in agreement and Seungkwan takes another bite of his pizza.

He slowly turns his head, eyes landing on all of them before landing on Seungkwan. “What?”

Seungkwan tilts his head at him. “What? We’re not gonna kill you.”

There’s a quick giggle, “Speak for yourself.” Jungwoo says under his breath. 

Still, Hansol is a little lost. He’s sure they’re making fun of him, he just doesn’t know how. “Kill me?”

“Seriously,” Donghyuk twirls the base of the wine glass between his fingers. There’s an honest to god pout on his lips. “It’s no fun killing humans if you’re not drowning them.”

He clicks his tongue. “Drowning.”

“Yeah, you know how it goes,” he leans down on the table again, cheek resting on the hand that’s not holding the wine. His grey hair sparkles in little rainbows under the light. “You sing, some smelly sailors want a kiss, you pull them down, pierce their lungs, eat their hearts, all that jazz.”

Again, Hansol waits for a fit of giggles. Of being put in an incredibly elaborate prank. On the smaller couch, Jungwoo is sitting with his feet dangling from the armrest, flipping through the pages of a magazine. Seungkwan is tapping his foot to an unknown rhythm. 

“So what you’re saying is,” he says slowly, eyes going from Seungkwan to Donghyuk. “You’re mermaids.”

Jungwoo turns a page. “Sirens.”

Hansol huffs out air. “That’s bullshit.”

Seungkwan lets out a contained wheeze. Donghyuk shakes his head and Jungwoo sends him a patronizing look. Hansol feels his lips go dry.

“That _is_ bullshit.” He tries, doesn’t sound too sure. “That makes no sense.”

“You ran all the way over here because you heard Kwanie’s song,” Jungwoo states. “Is that a thing you do often?”

Hansol opens his mouth to protest, but he really has no explanation for that one. If he’s not careful his head is going to go up in spirals again. Still. Mermaids. Makes no sense. 

“But you look like,” he gestures around, to their completely ordinary limbs. “All human?”

Seungkwan makes a face at him. God, he’s gorgeous. “Are you fucking insulting me?” His eyes turn an odd shade, grey, white almost. Hansol feels chills down his spine. 

“Kwanie, come _on_ ,” Jungwoo rolls his eyes. “He doesn’t mean it like that.” He turns to Hansol instead. “We don’t, not really. This isn’t hair dye, you know?” He shakes his head, luscious dark blue hair dancing around.

“ _Besides,”_ Seungkwan clears his throat. “We have these.”

Hansol follows Seungkwan’s hand, going to brush his hair behind his ear. He has a pearl, a rose colored pearl, the size of a marble, hanging from an earring. He looks around and finds Donghyuk and Jungwoo, both displaying the same on their ears. 

“They’re enchanted,” he explains, when Hansol turns back at him. “Make us look like you.”

The earring looks beautiful, and Hansol wants to touch it. He won’t, though, that’s kind of creepy. “What happens if you take it off?”

“Hmmm, nothing?” Donghyuk scrunches his nose. “I mean, we suffocate to death.” 

Oh. Yes. Sure.

“You’re not being serious.”

Jungwoo sends a significant eyebrow raise to Seungkwan, and whatever conversation they have, ends up with Seungkwan on his foot, directly in front of Hansol.

“Come on,” he orders, snapping his fingers. “Get up.”

Hansol, of course, obeys. He may not be listening to Seungkwan’s song anymore, but that doesn’t mean the guy stopped looking breathtaking. They stand close, barely an arm’s length apart, and Hansol feels his heart hurt at how unreal he looks from up close. 

Seungkwan looks in no way, shape, or form bothered by their proximity. He looks Hansol up and down and clears his throat.

 _“My heart is pierced by cupid,”_ he sings, his breathy tone brushing off Hansol’s face. _“I disdain all glittering gold.”_

Immediately, the warm fog starts filling up the room again. The air around Seungkwan becomes blurry, his eyes burning with the reflection of the fog around them. Hansol feels his insides dry up, all over again, Seungkwan’s voice enveloping him from all sides. 

Seungkwan takes a step back. Hansol takes a step forward. 

_“There is nothing can console me.”_

Seungkwan’s lips move and Hansol follows, urging for more. Seungkwan raises his hand, places it on Hansol’s face with a breath. It spreads fire on his chest. Seungkwan moves, and he follows. His finger slides from Hansol’s cheekbone to his chin, dragging at his bottom lip. Hansol’s heart is about to leap out of his chest. 

_“But my jolly, sailor...”_

Their noses brush together, Seungkwan’s sickening smile, the way he looks at Hansol’s mouth as if he wants to suck all of the air out of his lungs. Seungkwan looks up and their eyes meet. He feels a breeze fly from behind him, caressing Seungkwan’s fringe. Hansol feels his bones quaver. 

_“Bold.”_

Something tilts, Hansol feels a sharp edge against his lower back, the ground, the ground, gravity pulls him back it’s like his heart stops.

He’s falling. 

Except, Seungkwan grabs him by the vest and pulls him back to a standing position, eyebrows raised in amusement. 

It downs on Hansol all at once. Where he is, what just happened. He’s at the open balcony, his hands gripping at Seungkwan’s arms holding him in place, his back pressed against the railing. 

He was going to fall. Down seven floors from a stranger’s apartment on a saturday night.

Hansol sucks in a breath, eyes wide and heart racing a million beats per minute. 

Seungkwan, beautiful Seungkwan, loosens his grip on Hansol’s clothes and pats his chest, almost affectionately. “Believe me, now?”

“Yeah,” he nods, still a little air headed. He’s fucking terrified. “Yeah, I do.”

“Good boy.”

A glass cup is placed on his hand, he doesn’t see by whom. It’s the same clear sparkling liquid from before. Hansol swallows it all in one gulp. He hates every second of it. 

At least it works faster this time, and he can already feel his senses coming back to him. The room comes back into focus and he stumbles away from the open porch, following Seungkwan inside. Donghyuk has a shit eating grin on his lips. Jungwoo bats his eyelashes prettily.

Holy shit. 

“Holy shit,” he says, out loud this time. “You really are a mermaid.”

“Siren.”

He doesn’t reply. Seungkwan pats his cheek and walks away. 

“He’s so darn cute,” Jungwoo whines. “Let’s keep him, please?”

Things around him feel a little disconnected, but it’s less intense. He ends up on the couch again, next to Seungkwan. He catches some of their conversation, but he’s still feeling dizzy after almost being pushed out of a window. His eardrums ring from the aftermath of Seungkwan’s beautiful, haunting voice. Definitely not human. 

“...We never get them like this, though?” He hears Jungwoo ask. 

“Yeah, this is weird.” Seungkwan hums. “How the hell did he hear me all the way from outside? I thought these walls were enchanted.”

“What kind of shitplace is Park Jimin running here?” Donghyuk snickers. “I thought we paid extra to stay clear of humans.”

Seungkwan snorts, “ _You_ don’t pay anything.”

“The elevator.” Hansol says, voice a little hoarse. The three sirens turn to look at him. “I mean, I heard you from the elevator?” He scratches the back of his neck. “It was coming from the air vents, I think.”

They all make different noises of understandment. Donghyuk shrugs, probably satisfied with the solved mystery, and pours himself more wine. Jungwoo leans on his elbow to smile up at Hansol.

“It’s very lucky that you did, Chwe Hansol of the pizza place,” he says, in his soft voice. “Seungkwan saved you from a horrible fate.”

There’s a hint of honesty in Jungwoo’s tone that freaks him out a little bit. He bites his lower lip.

“What happens to pizza guys who go up to 11B?”

He moves his eyes just in time to catch Seungkwan giving him the breathtaking smile again. His eyes sparkle as if the moonlight dances on them. Hansol wants to stare at them forever, song or not. 

“Oh, sweetie, you _really_ don’t wanna know.”

Well. Maybe he really doesn’t.

Hansol still feels a little weird. A little too heavy, a little too light. He figures it might be a little over two in the morning. His boss said he didn’t have to take the car back until tomorrow afternoon, so that’s at least one thing he doesn’t have to worry about. 

He pats the chest pocket of his vest and pulls out his phone. There’s a few missed calls from Jisoo and a reminder of his next shift from his boss. Nothing about the missing pizza to apartment 11B. Huh. 

The sirens are chatting between them again, about some TV show Hansol has never heard about. They don’t look tired, nor do they look like they want him to leave. Hansol doesn’t think he wants to leave Seungkwan’s side, either. Not yet.

Jungwoo picks up the remote and turns on the TV, soon he’s scrolling through Netflix, humming some jingle under his breath. He tells Donghyuk to turn the lights off and get them a blanket.

Seungkwan pulls the wine glass near his face and snuggles close to Hansol on the couch, giving him a wink before the lights turn off. 

“You don’t have anywhere to be, do you?” He asks.

Hansol’s heart might as well jump out of his mouth at this point. He can’t tell for sure, given he spent the better part of the last hour feeling a little drugged, but he smiles at Seungkwan, fully, for the first time.

“Nah, I’m good.”

In fact, he might not want to leave Seungkwan’s side _ever_ , if not even later.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Excuses? I have none.
> 
> This work is part of a upcoming series in collaboration with [slytherminie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherminie/pseuds/slytherminie). Supernatural boys living in a fancy building run by a powerful vampire. Possibilities are endless.......
> 
> Stay tuned 😙
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/starrysol) ♡


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